


Bosph

by MotleyMoose



Series: Homecoming [2]
Category: Star Wars, The Mandalorian
Genre: Angst, Angst adjacent, Blaster lessons in the desert, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Fighting, Gen, Hurt, Injury, Let's get ready for this, Snark, Sorry Not Sorry, The mandalorian becomes a teacher, We're gunning for a fight, all the snark, angsty, character injury, flangst, help and healing... not in this episode, let's hear it for the angst, mando actually cares....sorta, my what snark, pain and discomfort, razor crest, why is everyone always so angry???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotleyMoose/pseuds/MotleyMoose
Summary: I haveno ideawhy the bounty hunter is being nice to me. Or rather nice-ish. I mean, I haven't been frozen in carbonite yet, so that's promising???
Relationships: The Mandalorian/Gender Neutral Reader
Series: Homecoming [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846768
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Confusing Practices Breed Confusing Outcomes

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Part 2! I hope you enjoy your stay!!!  
> \---  
> Thanks for stopping by! Hope to see you soon!!!

By the time we landed on the outermost planet in the habitable zone, I was back to feeling like a normal being. I was clean, fed and shockingly uncuffed. The last had happened soon after the Mandalorian had left me in the hold. The cuffs had buzzed and loosened enough for me to slip out of them, and I was almost positive he’d done it on purpose. Just like giving me food, freeing my hands seemed strange and un-bounty-hunter-like, but I didn’t want to question it too much lest it all got ripped out from under me.

The flight hadn’t been that long, two days at the most in hyperspace. Luckily, my space sickness ebbed halfway through the trip. I hadn’t seen the bounty hunter since getting rudely awakened in the hold’s crawl space, but I didn’t mind it. I’d leave him alone if he’d leave me alone. And as far as ships went, the _Razor Crest_ wasn’t too shabby.

But I was itching to get out of the hold and onto solid ground. Even if that meant seeing Mihcas.

Stretching in the cramped bunk I’d claimed as my own, I touch the walls on all sides, trying to soak in what little peace I could before my ultimate demise. Two days in the cargo hold had lightened my mood, even if it was only because I was off that backwater moon and in the skies again. The atmosphere down below was warmer than the upper deck, almost uncomfortably so. But as I had gotten used to the bantha moon’s heat, it didn’t bother me too much.

A sharp knock sounded outside my little haven before the curtain was ripped back. The Mandalorian, fully geared, glowered down at me. He flung a pair of cuffs at my midsection, and reflexively I curled up to protect myself. I wasn’t fast enough; the cuffs landed heavily on my stomach.

“Good morning to you too,” I muttered, flopping back onto the pillow and covering my face with my arms.

The whirring hum of the charging blaster warned me that he wasn’t in a good mood. But really, when _wasn’t_ this Mando in a not good mood? Sighing heavily, I sat up slowly to pick up the cuffs. “This isn’t really necessary, y’know. There’s nowhere for me to run out there that _isn’t_ under Mihcas’s thumb.”

The Mandalorian trained the barrel of his gun at my chest.

“Fine,” I whined in a pretty good impression of a bratty youngling. I locked my left wrist in first, then, with some frustration, my right, and held my hands out for inspection. The Mandalorian leaned into the bunk, rough leather gloves double checking my work, snugging the cuffs a little tighter with a practiced squeeze. He motioned for me to get out of the bunk, taking several careful steps back with his blaster still pointing at me.  
In the least graceful way possible, I wriggled my way out of the bunk. I’d dragged half the bedding with me, and I cursed angrily as I tried, unsuccessfully, to kick the tangle of blankets from my legs.

In one swift movement, the bounty hunter yanked on one of the sheets, instantly untangling me from the mess but knocking me off my feet and onto the floor. Dazed, I stared at the wires and ducts nestled cozily above me and wished that I was anywhere but on this fragging ship. A smart boot to the hip brought me back. Rolling onto my side, I pushed unsteadily to my feet and waited, frazzled, for the Mandalorian to reveal his plans. I frowned at him. He stared blankly back. We stood there, facing each other like that for what seemed like an eternity. My life was getting ready to come to an abrupt end, and the pressure and stress of it was almost too much to bear. I’d have preferred if he had said something scathing, something I could latch onto and be mad about, but all he gave me was silence.

I couldn’t take it anymore, not when I was about to die at the hands of my dosh-faced ex-boss.

“Well,” I said with about as much swagger as a nerfherder. “Let’s go get me killed.” I stepped boldly forward, purposefully _not_ looking at the hunter, and headed for the hatch. A strong, solid arm hit me in the chest midstep, making me suck in my breath; my chest was still tender from our first encounter a few days ago. Salvaging what little balance and self-respect I had, I took a step backwards and snorted. “What?”

The helmet angled toward me, arm dropping to his side. “This… Mihcas. What is he to you?”

A harsh laugh bubbled up my throat. “The guy you’re turning me over to? He’s nothing, and everything,” I fumed. “Mihcas is the reason I’m in this mess. He owns me.” Swallowing back the bile and rage, I faced forward and lifted my chin. “I can’t take back all of the horrible choices I made, but I don’t have to accept what _he_ believes is righteous, no matter what that does to me.” Striding past the silent Mandalorian, I approached the hatch controls. Fumbling with my bound wrists, I whacked the panel harder than I should’ve, bruising the side of my hands. The hydraulics hissed as the motors released the locks and lowered the ramp.

“Let’s go get this fragging show over with.”

The _Crest’s_ hatch opened onto a rocky outcrop well back from the main road into the mining district. The sky was an unhealthy shade of orange, the air tinged with a metallic flavor that clung to the back of my tongue and stung my eyes. Bootsteps followed slowly behind as I marched down the slope of the ramp and onto the barren earth. Rubbing at my eyes did nothing except irritate them more, my tear ducts working overtime to wash out the pollution.

The bounty hunter paused in front of me. “Here,” he grunted, thrusting a portable respirator and goggles into my bound hands.

I blinked skeptically at him. He huffed and turned away, impatiently scanning the bleak landscape while I hastily kitted up. Once the mask and goggles were in place, and I was breathing easier, the Mandalorian took off at a stiff clip, heading towards a squarish blob on the horizon. Since there was nothing else I _could_ do, I tagged along, easily pacing him but keeping a stride or so behind; I wasn’t the one wearing beskar, and I didn’t exactly feel like being pumped full of holes by the mercs patrolling Mihcas’s compound.

The compound was a full-day’s march from the _Razor Crest_ over rough, unforgiving terrain. The hunter didn’t pause for breaks, and I didn’t ask, suffering screaming back and legs in silence. I’d be dosh if I turned whimpering coward now that I was facing Death, and I wouldn’t give the Mandalorian, or Mihcas for that matter, the satisfaction in seeing me break.

Dusk had fallen by the time we reached a shallow gully only a few miles from the perimeter fence. Trash and rubble were scattered across the ground, piled here and there in towering, teetering heaps. The bounty hunter had said little on our trek across the desolate land, only begrudgingly noting hazards in his monosyllabic way. With my throat parched and my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth due to the arid air filtering through the respimask, I wasn’t in much of a mood to talk either.

We passed countless piles of junk and rock, weaving our way through the haphazardly tossed garbage until we came upon a spot that was relatively sheltered compared to the rest. A larger hill of rubble had collapsed, drifting aimlessly into surrounding heaps. Some of the rocks had shifted along with it, creating a sort of cave that appeared dry and uninhabited. He waved me in, following close behind. Once inside, I allowed my knees to buckle, collapsing with a grateful groan onto the uncomfortable dirt.

A cracked boulder rumbled through the opening, the Mandalorian behind it. Positioning the rock at the entrance, he swung his rifle over his shoulders and laid it over his knees as he sat down on the makeshift seat. I eyed him for a moment, only a little worried about the shock-prongs at the end of the gun. Seeing as he wasn’t getting ready to electrocute me, I straightened out my back and rolled my shoulders and neck to work out the kinks. I sigh forcefully through the respimask and scrub my hair with my bound hands. It stuck out in odd spikes all over my head, and I looked absolutely devilish covered in the soot and grime of the polluted planet.

The Mandalorian shifted noisily, and I chanced another peek at him. He wasn't a particularly loud being, which was surprising for the amount of kit he packed, and the sound of him moving proved disconcerting.

“Something wrong?” I murmured, half accusation and half curiosity. My time around others of his creed had been brief, but even so I’d never encountered anyone remotely like him. His careful movements were always so calculated and quiet, and anything contradicting that was intriguing.

A crackly hiss blew over the vocoder, and he wearily dropped the point of his helmet to his chest. “The information you gave me was… accurate,” he admitted brusquely.

Eyebrows shooting upwards, I rolled painfully to my side and pillowed my head on my cuffed wrists. “Go on,” I rasped.

Noiselessly, he unclipped the canteen from his belt and handed it to me. Greedily, I tore off my respimask, unscrewed the cap and took a big swig. The water was tepid and stale, but I didn’t care; it was wet and I was thirsty. The liquid dribbled down my chin as I took another mouthful. Blissfully refreshed, I capped the canteen and gave it back, pulling the respimask back into place. “So. You believe me,” I croaked unquestioningly.

This time the sigh was unmistakable. He lifted his head and angled it away. “No,” he replied simply.

“I see.”

“Do you?” A hint of curiosity in his tone. _Interesting._

“You don’t trust me, I get it. I don’t trust me; just look where we are.” Rolling my eyes vaguely at the trash surrounding us, I decidedly pushed off my arms into a sitting position so I could look at him easier. “I don’t know what info you got on me, and I sure as dosh don’t know what you found on Mihcas. But I can tell you this: he is _not_ a man of his word, and he will kill me, and possibly try to kill you as well.” My hands trembled between my knees, and I curled my fingers into fists to stop it. Inhaling deeply, I looked down at my lap. “I know my job wasn’t strictly legal, but I tried my best to make it better, even if my best wasn’t the right thing to do at the time,” I mumbled, the guilt clawing its way up my throat. The shadowy ghosts began to scream and moan inside my mind, and I shook my head violently to stop the onslaught. Now was not the time to relive the past.

The long, biting pause that followed did nothing to chase the ghosts away. As I sulked amongst the rubble, fighting back the tears and the bile brought on by the guilt, the Mandalorian gazed stoically out onto the gully, gloved fingers tapping a jittery tattoo on the stock of his rifle. It was well into the night before he said anything.

“Do you know how to use a blaster.”

Raising my weary head sullenly, I squinted at his shadowy form in the opening. “I don’t like guns,” I replied to the nonquestion.

Exhaling in mild frustration, he repositioned himself face to me. “Come here,” he said, beckoning me to the entryway. Pale moonlight washed out the landscape, leaving it a land of gray shadows. I blinked a few times, letting my goggled eyes adjust to the dimness, then crouched beside him, elbows resting on my knees.  
Taking out his blaster pistol, he pointed at various sections, giving me a short lesson. “This is the chamber where the blast cartridges go. Once it’s primed, it’s ready to fire. Don’t point it at anyone unless you are willing to shoot, don’t pull the trigger unless you’re willing to kill.” He returned it to its holster and held out a gloved hand, palm up. “Give me your hands.”

Confused, I held out my hands. He punched a sequence into his vembrace controls and pulled on the cuffs. They loosened, slipping over my knuckles. “What are you doing?” I asked, bewildered by his actions.

Handing the cuffs to me, the bounty hunter jerked his head to the back wall. “Get some sleep.”

I nodded my head silently, taking the cuffs back to my spot. Setting them between me and the wall, I curled into a ball with my back facing the Mandalorian and fell into an uneasy sleep.


	2. New Friends, Found & Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I make friends where I can. But I apparently I don't get to keep them long when the bounty hunter's around.
> 
> Fraggin' buckethead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for a long chapter?!

Just before the rusty pink dawn broke, we made it to the bottom of the ravine. My hands were bound once more, but this time the cuffs were loose, giving me room to wiggle out of them. The hunters’s blaster was still in its holster and the rifle slung across his back. He didn’t draw the pistol until we were out of the ditch, picking our way around craters and abandoned mech. A pile of service droids marked the gate into the compound, and my guts wrenched at the sight of them. There were many out there that didn’t see the sentient robots as living things, no matter what personality or skills they developed outside of their programming, and it hurt to think of the terror and confusion the service droids must have experienced before being destroyed.

Repressing the urge to vomit, I stood silently beside the bounty hunter as the merc at the gate scanned the ID fob and took the puck containing my arrest warrant. While the scan was processing, another guard stepped forward and ripped the goggles and respimask from my face, chucking them behind her. I scowled as menacingly as I could, but she just laughed, waving her hand dismissively at me. The scanner beeped an all-clear, and the merc triggered the gate, ushering us into the yard. The Mandalorian’s blaster barrel pressed into my side as we followed the merc through a low tunnel and into the building itself.

Once inside, we were greeted by several more mercs, each carrying weapons in plain view. Flanked on both sides and the back, the mercs guided us into a short hallway that contained a single door.

“Oh, no. After you,” I replied to the prod from the Mandalorian’s gun. I was rewarded with a slap upside the head that left my ears ringing. The merc who administered the blow grinned humorlessly at me with very sharp pointy teeth. Sighing in exasperation, I held my bound hands up. “I don’t know the code to open the door.” I wiggled my fingers emphatically and received another smack to the head. A pale orange Twi’lek shouldered her way forward, tapping a string of digits into the control panel. With a hiss, the door slid open.

The room was smaller compared to some of Mihcas’s other boltholes, but it was still elegantly furnished, and expensively. Carpets and furs decorated the floors and walls, and richly cushioned couches and chairs were spaced evenly around the center of the room facing the extravagantly massive fireplace. Servants, of varying ages, mods and species, lined up against the wall on either side of the fireplace, eyes downcast and arms politely tucked behind them. In the midst of it all stood Mihcas, dressed in a well-tailored formal tunic belted at the waist and Sullustan leather pants that ended inside tall black shock boots, his shoulder-length silver-blonde hair tied neatly at the back of his neck. He turned as we entered, a wolfish grin on his otherwise averagely-handsome pale features.

Acknowledging me with a curt nod, he greeted the Mandalorian with wide arms. “Welcome, fierce _beroya_! I do hope the journey was not too wearisome.” A sharp glance to one of the attendants procured a tray of cups and cold tea and Imperial delicacies.

I eyed the tray longingly before forcing myself to look away. My eyes met Mihcas’s, and his humorless grin widened, showing off his perfect teeth. The Mandalorian stepped around me, blocking my view of my ex-boss.

“Do you have the credits,” he stated in his not-a-question way, fingers tightening imperceptibly on the blaster’s grip.

“Ah. Yes,” Mihcas replied, voice hardening. “If you would be so kind as to hand my errant employee over to my guards, I will get you your payment.” He walked to a table standing in the corner of the room and unlocked it with a finger scan.

The Mandalorian turned to me, cloak blocking all but my view of his hands as they tested the cuffs and slipped the blaster into the pocket at my hip, hidden by my baggy tunic. With a helmet tilt to the guards at the door, he stepped back and watched as two of the mercs flanked me. I was lifted up by large hands clenching my upper arms and swiftly dragged from the room.

The door closed behind us as my two brutish companions, a mountainous blue-green Twi’lek male with a mean looking modified disrupter slung across his back and a rough-looking tawny Wookiee carrying a heavy reconfigurable blaster and a long knife strapped to its belt, hauled me bodily down the hall for one long droid-operated freight elevator ride and tour of the underground tunnels before depositing me into a barred holding cell. The Twi’lek bastard gave me a hard kick to the knee, sending me tumbling to the cold stone floor. I yelped in surprise and pain, feeling the cartilage pop in protest. The Wookiee barked a guttural laugh and slammed the barred door closed after the Twi’lek exited the cell. I waited until I heard their heavy footfalls disappear into the darkness, praying to the Maker that there was no one else down here with me, and sat up.

Holding my breath, I slipped out of the cuffs, tucking them into the pocket at my thigh. Mother of Moons, was I thankful for my jumpsuit. There was no other piece of clothing as versatile as this in the galaxy, nor any with as many pockets. Touching every pocket in turn, I let my fingers trace their way to my left knee. It was throbbing dully, and the heat from the rapidly swelling flesh only mildly concerned me at the moment. There was a secret pouch at the back of the knee, hidden in the baggy folds of the tough fabric, and I needed to get at it before the pain intensified. I unbuttoned the leg of the jumpsuit to just below my thigh and fished out the tiny set of tools I’d hidden.

Unrolling the palm-sized piece of leather on my aching knee, I selected a thin, pointed hook pick and a flat length of metal with a zigzag end I liked to call a squiggle, more colloquially known as a worm rake. I carefully folded the other tools back into the leather and returned it to the secret pouch, buttoning only three buttons at the bottom of the leg out of convenience and the need for speed. Rising painfully to my feet, I limped over to the metal door to inspect the lock close-up.

It was a simple deadbolt-type lock. Smirking mirthlessly, I knelt on my right knee, letting my left leg splay out sideways to avoid being bumped. Snaking my arms through the bars, I closed my eyes and let the tools become natural extensions of my hands. I could see the mechanism clear as day without actually looking at it, my body attuned to the scrapes and taps of the tools.

A gentle push here, a light rake there, and the lock clicked. I retrieved the little tool set from the knee pouch and replaced the pick and rake, returning the now-complete set to its home once more.

I allowed a small groan as I stood up. White-hot pain stabbed at the tendons at the inside of my knee when I put weight on my left leg, and I cursed the skug of a Twi’lek who'd kicked me. The Mandalorian had told me nothing of a rendezvous, let alone an escape plan, but I took the borrowed pistol as a good sign he wasn’t leaving me as sarlacc fodder. However, the knee was going to slow me up quite a bit if there happened to be an end goal I wasn't aware of.

The space between the tunnel wall and the holding cell wasn’t all that wide, and I made it in two one-legged hops, landing heavily against the wall. Using the tunnel as support, I limped awkwardly back the way I’d been carried. Landmarks were few and far between down at this depth, and it took a few attempts before I found the first freight elevator.

Relief flooded my senses as I stumbled over the gap and onto the steel platform. The tiny cylindrical service droid meeped in surprise when I entered, but quickly returned to its base programming to ask what floor I required.

“Ground level,” I replied dryly.

The droid beeped a confirmation, several small lights flashing brightly across its face. The guardrail swung down as the cage doors slid shut, and we began our ascent to the surface. The trip up was going to take a while, so I slid against the wire-paneled wall and sat companionably on the platform next to the droid.

“Do you like working down here?” I asked sincerely. Other than this one, the droids I’d seen so far were all non-functioning piles of metal.

A whir and a set of clicks confirmed my suspicions. I didn’t have the more delicate tools needed to give the elevator droid a proper diagnostics test, but I had a small dropper of oil and a few slim-handled stiff bristle brushes.

I emptied my pockets, setting each item neatly in front of the service droid. It meeped and whirred.

“It looks like your vents are stiff and your utility arm could use some grease. I’d like to clean them for you, if you’ll let me.”

A lone light blinked as the droid processed the information. A few seconds later, it clicked excitedly.

“No problem! I like doing this kinda stuff.” I smiled, adding offhandedly, “I’m a mech.”

With mindful fingers, I popped off the droid’s front access panel and loosened larger bits of caked-on gunk from its bolts and heftier gears. Taking up one of the smaller brushes, I swept away the rest of the debris and pinched the stiff bristles together to work out a little bit of rotted oil gumming up its more delicate gears. Leaning back, I took one satisfied look at my handiwork before picking up the small oil dropper.

“A little lube, and you’ll be as good as new, _burc’ya_ ,” I said, dusting off the top of its domed head.

I finished oiling the droid’s joints and other recalcitrant parts by the time we arrived at the ground floor. The elevator juttered to a stop, and the little service droid whirred happily, moving its arm in a smooth back and forth motion that showed off my mech skills. I couldn't help but smile at the droid. Knowing that my work was being appreciated was the best thanks I could ask for.

"Looks like this is where I get off," I said, pulling myself stiffly to my feet. "Don't let those kung-breathed dosh-heads get you down, friend."

The droid beeped in a succession of trills and tweets, and I patted its dome in a friendly parting. The droid pulled the door lever, and I stood back as the guardrail raised and the cage door slid open. It took a moment for the outer facade to recognize the command, but when it did, I found myself in utter chaos.

At the end of the tunnel, oily smoke curled languidly out of a Twi'lek sized hole in the sliding metal doors. One of Mihcas's elegant chairs lay broken halfway down the tunnel, and the body of the Wookiee guard was crumpled against the wall. Wide eyed but not naive, I slipped the blaster from my hip pocket and edged out of the elevator. 

"Get out of here, if you can," I whispered to the little service droid. It meeped worriedly, and I reached back into the freight elevator to tap its domed top in comfort. "Don't worry about me, the goons can't hurt me; the boss reserves the right to kill me himself."

The droid trilled frantically, lights firing circles around its small head.

“Um, no. You are _not_ coming with me. It’s too dangerous.”

Another set of trills and lights, but this time with a short honk.

“ _Fine._ But don’t come crying to me when some fraghead takes a potshot at you and fries your servers,” I replied. Glad as I was to have company, and friendly company at that, I worried about the little droid coming to harm.

It beeped solemnly at me, disengaged from its dock, and whirred happily ahead of me.

"You, too, little friend," I murmured.

Limping as quietly as I could, I followed my new droid friend. It stopped a few feet short of the merc laying in the hall. I slowly approached the prostrate Wookiee, blaster drawn, taking a position in front of the service droid. The merc wasn't moving, which was good news for us. But by the size of the hole in its chest, it didn't look like it took that news very well. Stooping cautiously, I reached out a hand and poked it in its glassy, half-opened eye.

Yep. Definitely dead. 

Tugging at its belt, I spun the leather strap around its waist until the forearm length blade came into view, still in its sheath. The knife was more like a sword in my hands, but it was better than a gun. Shoving the Mandalorian’s blaster back into its pocket, I straightened and glanced towards Mihcas's sanctum. I began to limp towards the door, the small robot rolling closely behind. We were almost to the broken door when something caught my eye.

I froze, and the droid followed suit. A shadow flickered in the haze of smoke, masking whether it was friend or foe. Fingers tightening on the grip, I shuffled forward leaning heavily to the right. If I had to fight my way out of here, I couldn't count on my knife skills alone. My knee was too badly damaged to be of any use in hand-to-hand combat, and I cursed the Twi’lek once more before steeling myself for a possible attack.

Someone grunted angrily on the other side of the smoky room. Inching towards the door, it was impossible to see more than two feet inside. Frustrated, I patted my pockets with my free hand, searching for something to cover my face.

Bingo.

Unwadding the crusty oil rag, I tucked the knife under my arm and tied the rag around my nose and mouth. It wasn’t as good as a respimask, but at least I wasn’t going to immediately fill my lungs with soot. I got a surer grip on the large knife, and leaned up against the wall beside the door. The hole was large, all jagged edges and fused metal, and I knew that no amount of finagling was going to get the control panel to open it. By this time, I was well aware of my knee; the sharp, throbbing sensation that traveled up and down my leg every time I took a step made it kinda hard to forget about the damage. I couldn’t put much weight on it, which made the idea of stepping over the bottom of the damaged door all the more unpleasant.

The acrid smoke roiled, disturbed by movement farther into the room. I wasn’t sure if this was the only exit, but seeing as I didn’t have any other ideas, I was going to have to try my luck with whoever was occupying the space.

“Think you could get me one of those rugs if I set you over the door?” I asked the droid blinking beside me.

It beeped a response, and I nodded.

With as much ease and grace that I could muster, I hefted the droid through the hole and onto the other side of the door. Its fans whirred faster as it encountered the dense smoke, and I could see its squat shape rolling further into the room. Silence fell for a brief moment, and the worry began to eat its way back into my chest.

Just as I was about to force my way over the broken door, a set of colorful blinking lights greeted me through the dimness.

Leaning into the hole, I snagged the edge of the fur my little droid pal had retrieved. I laid it over the lip of the hole, taking care to not fall over. I was frustrated and scared, and it took more than I had to bite my tongue from shouting in pain. Gingerly, I sat down on the edge of the door and tipped over backwards, landing with a healthy _whuff_ on the other side in a pile of discarded carpets. The droid blinked silently in concern, and I patted its head before flopping over onto my belly. Pushing to my knees, I hissed out a string of curses in as many languages as I could muster. My knee was shrieking in agony, but I had to keep going if I wanted to get out of the compound alive. Flinging potential tripping hazards away from me, I used a broken chair leg to rise wobbly to my feet. The room was eerily quiet, but I could still feel the presence of someone else.

I was rewarded for my paranoia by a clatter in the center of the room. I stopped and held my breath. Another grunt sounded from the same direction

Instead of running in the direction I thought the door was, I decided to try my luck with the being at the center of the room. The droid flashed red in alarm, but I ignored its warnings. I may have been hoping that it was Mihcas making that noise, slowly dying in a puddle of his own bodily fluids. It would have made a fitting death for a skug who caused untold amounts of despair in others.

Picking my way carefully through the wreckage, I held the blade at the ready. If anyone was going to pop out of the smoke at me, they were going to be met with a very big knife. The droid stayed as quiet as it could, leaving plenty of space between us as a precaution. It wouldn't do anyone any favors if it got underfoot in a fight.

A noise nearby made me jump. Boots scuffed up ahead, followed by another groan. I couldn’t see over to the other side of the couch, the smoke being too thick and stinging my eyes to tears. Everything had taken on a blurry, hazed look, and it was a miracle I didn’t trip over the leg that came sweeping across the floor at me. 

“Frag!” I yelped, arms instinctively coming to a defensive position.

I heard my name rasped through a vocoder. "You're alive."

"No thanks to you, buckethead," I replied, squinting down at the Mandalorian. "You're lucky I've got skills. What happened to you?" He was propped up in a scrunchingly uncomfortable way against the couch, an unfamiliar pistol in his hand and his rifle at his side. I tried again, waving the knife at the smoke. “This your handiwork?”

Ignoring me, his visor focused on a point just over my left shoulder. "Let's go."

With effort, I help him unsteadily to his feet, looping an arm around his torso. He leaned heavily into me, favoring his right side. From the looks of it, his arm was useless, dislocated maybe. A dark wet splotch had bloomed underneath his armor, and there was a strain on the floor to match. 

Adding his weight to mine caused my knee to buckle ever so slightly in the wrong direction. The searing pain brought bile up the back of my throat. The sourness mixed with the metallic taste of the smoke already residing there, making me gag a little in response. Anxiety emerged from underneath my guts, clawing its way to my chest.

I swallowed in an attempt to keep the panic from setting in, and immediately regretted the decision. It dropped like a stone back into my stomach. Now I was queasy on top of the pain and the panic. Things weren’t looking good, and I could feel my heart begin to race at the thought of being smothered by all the smoke in Mihcas’s compound. Just as I was getting lost in the tangle of panicked thoughts and feelings, the Mandalorian muttered something.

“What?” I gasped, brought rudely out of my waking nightmares into reality.

“Amban. Need it,” he breathed.

Oh, right. The rifle.

Inhaling as deeply as I could, I ignored the nausea and the ever present pain and reached down for the discarded rifle. When I came back up, lightheaded and not a little dizzy, the bounty hunter wrapped the strap once around his good wrist and slung it over his helmet and shoulder. Blinking a few times, I exhaled explosively. Taking his weight back on, I guided him in a stumbling, winding path across the room. 

"Fragging sake, you way as much as a bluurg!"

The Mandalorian grunted under his breath, gloves fingers digging into my shoulder. "Blaster," he muttered.

"Hold on. " I stopped, letting go of his arm and fishing for the gun in my pocket. "Here, " I said, showing it to him. "But how are you gonna-"

An excited trill of beeps sounded off to my right. With a heave, the hunter dropped his arm from my shoulders, taking the pistol in his good hand. Without looking at where he was aiming, the Mandalorian fired off two succinct rounds in the direction of the noise.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” I cried, lunging toward the crumpled droid. It meeped weakly, its blinking lights slowly fading one by one.

“It was helping me.” I held the droid’s small, blocky body in my arms as more of its functions began to shut down. My knee was screaming, but I didn’t care; my new friend was dying, and there was nothing I could do for it.

The Mandalorian stood sentinel behind me, blaster at his side. “We should go.”

“I can’t leave it alone!” I snarled back at him. “Why did you shoot?” My voice wavered, the fight draining out of me as fast as the droid’s little lights winked out. It didn’t take long for my little friend to beep its last.

I stood up from the remains of the droid, wiped my face on my sleeve and limped back toward the Mandalorian. “Ready when you are,” I said coolly.

He checked the charge on his blaster, powered it back up, and collapsed against the wall. “Exit. There,” he said with a tilt of his helmet. Squinting against the smoke and the tears, I couldn’t tell how far it was, but I could feel a breeze that stank of the outside.

Huffing, the Mandalorian pushed off of the wall and onto my awaiting shoulder. I may have been carrying most of his weight, but he was still in total control. He steered us the short distance to the smashed door and into the short, low tunnel.

“Not sure how we’re gonna get over that ravine,” I said conversationally.

“You worry about getting us there, I’ll worry about what comes after.”

“Got some magical flying Tauntauns up your sleeve, do you?”

“Shut up and walk.”

More than a little irked, I shuffled along under him until we got to the mouth of the tunnel. The body of the guard who’d laughed at me lay twisted against the curved wall of the tunnel, eyes open in astonishment. The merc was nowhere to be seen. Stopping a few steps from the outside, I helped the Mandalorian sit down against the curve of the tunnel wall, his breath coming out in rough, painful gasps over the vocoder. I glanced nervously at the dead guard. “What’d you do with the other one?”

“Do you... really... want to know.”

“Just making sure I’m not gonna get blasted once we step outside.”

“I took... care of... them.”

Nodding again, I look out across the compound’s yard to the gate, still closed but unmanned as far as I could tell. The Mandalorian’s breath began to slow from ragged gasps to mostly even puffs. He shifted against the wall, and I reached down to help him stand.

Synchronized, we stepped cautiously out into the muddy sunlight. The warmth felt good on my face and neck, and my shoulders relaxed fractionally. Mother of Moons, I never thought I’d see daylight again.

"I think you've seen better days, Mando." 

The bounty hunter was _fast_. As I was turning my head around to see who had spoken, the Mandalorian had his blaster trained on the interloper.

_Mihcas_

Surprised as I was to see that the Mandalorian was standing in front of me… was he trying to protect me?... I was more so by the appearance of Mihcas who, I’d falsely assumed, had been killed with the rest of them.

Serves me right for not asking the correct questions.

Mihcas strode forward, the Twi’lek’s disruptor drawing a bead on the bounty hunter. His clothes were torn and singed and he was covered in blood, some of it drying darkly in his loose, silvery hair. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t his blood, and the thought of whose it could be made me sick. “I’m willing to let you carry on your merry way in exchange for my employee. We have business to discuss, and I would hate to bore you with all of the gruesome details.” The wolfish smile pulled at his lips again. He looked absolutely _mad_.

“I don’t negotiate,” the bounty hunter replied. A slight tremor in his right arm told me he wouldn’t be able to stand for much longer. I was going to have to do something, something incredible stupid in order to save the buckethead who got me into this mess, and I was going to have to do it fast.

“But I do!” I said brightly, stepping around the shocked Mandalorian.

On Mihcas’s lips, my name sounded like a curse. His long, thin hands tightened on the rifle, bringing it to bear on my chest. I could hear the power buzzing through it from twenty paces away.

“What are you doing?” the hunter whispered urgently.

“Shut up. I’ve got a plan to plan.” It had sounded so much smarter in my head, but I couldn’t take it back now.

Refocusing on Mihcas, I held up my hands and dropped the purloined knife. It landed, extremely pointy point down, in the semi-soft soil between my feet. “If I assume correctly, this scruffy-looking buckethead took out all of your hired goons while I was down below. Right?”

Mihcas’s head tipped imperceptibly, eyes darting to my helmeted shadow then back to me.

“‘Kay. Even knowing that, you’re willing to bet your life that he’s not gonna turn right around and kick your doshing ass once you’ve shot me? That doesn’t seem remotely smart or calculating, Mr. Bossman.”

Face reddening, Mihcas hissed, “I’ll take my chances.”

“Really? ‘Cuz from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re half a dozen charges away from an empty rifle. No, don’t check,” I bluffed reasonably. “Take your eyes off me, and who knows where this crazy Mando’s gonna go.”

I could practically see the steam rolling off of my boss, his temper getting the better of him the longer I pointed out the obvious. With any luck, I’d get his focus entirely hazed by anger, and hopefully that would be enough for one of us to take him out.

The Mandalorian huffed behind me, and I shook my head. If only he could be _patient_ for a moment longer.

“So, with all this stuff _not in your favor_ , I can see only one real option for you.” I paused for effect, holding my breath as I watched Mihcas shift uncomfortably. Then I waited a little bit longer.

“Well?” Mihcas snapped. The gun’s barrel dipped a fraction lower, and I inwardly congratulated myself on pissing him off enough to lose focus. If he was interested in what I was saying, there was an even better chance of making it off this rock alive.

“You die.”

Shoving me roughly to the dirt, the Mandalorian rushed forward, guns blazing. With his right side useless and probably in considerable pain, the shots were a little off-centered, hitting the other man in the hip and shoulder. Mihcas went down with an angry scream, returning erratic fire from where he lay. A burning sensation bit at my side as I rose from the dust, and I doubled over. Must’ve landed wrong when the hunter pushed me. The Mandalorian yelled something in my direction, but I didn’t catch what it was as I straightened up. The adrenaline surged once more through my veins, and I ducked, pulling what I now considered _my_ knife from the ground. From the corner of my eye, I could see the bounty hunter flat on his belly behind the pile of dead droids, returning fire with Mihcas. For the heck of it, I picked up a decent sized rock as well.

Stumbling forward, I switched the large blade to my dominant hand, the silvery sharp edge slicing into my palm. From my vantage point, both the Mandalorian and Mihcas were highly visible to me, but not each other. I tested the weight of the rock in the other, finding the best grip I could at such short notice. I only had one shot, and I needed to make it count, otherwise...

Well, I didn't want to think about that.

With an underhanded swing, I lobbed the rock inexpertly at Mihcas's head. It shattered against the gatepost, showering him with mean, gritty pebbles and dirt.

A string of swears erupted from Mihcas as he dropped the barrel of his gun and wiped frantically at his face one-handedly. Those bits of debris had to sting; the air on this planet wasn't the cleanest, and it undoubtedly had leeched into the soil.

Steeling myself, I straightened to my full height, filling my lungs with the dry, tangy air.

“HEY MIHCAS,” I screamed, the words tearing my throat raw. “CATCH!” I flicked my wrist, sending the large dagger singing through the air. Mihcas’s eyes went wide when the knife appeared, sticking out of his chest. He immediately slumped over, cradling the hilt in his death throes.

Taking one last look at Mihcas’s body, I limped hurriedly toward the dead drones.

The Mandalorian’s helm gleamed violently in the sunlight, and I shielded my eyes, coming to a stuttering stop in front of his cover.

“Got ‘im,” I said with a smile.

I may not have been able to tell what his face looked like under that visor of his, but I could feel an air of disapproving astonishment coming from him. I relished in it.

“I… have… so many questions,” he replied, frustratedly flabbergasted.

“So do I, but I’m sure we can get that sorted once we get back to the _Crest_. That is, unless…” I stopped, scrutinizing the tilt of his helmet and the grip on the blaster. “Unless you’re leaving me here?”

A violent huff sizzled over his vocoder. “There’s speedbikes in an alcove inside that tunnel,” he said tersely, pointing back the way we came. “They should get us back to the ship before midday.”

“Thank you, Mother of Moons,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. I was going to voluntarily stay at the compound if it meant not walking all the way back to the ship at his speedy pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _beroya_ \- bounty hunter  
>  _burc’ya_ \- friend


	3. No Trust in Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so so tired. Why won't that doshing bounty hunter let me sleep???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short little cutie, full of hurt and more hurt. But just you wait your pretty little heads! Longer chapters full of more feelings are coming SOOOOOOOON.
> 
> (*pssssst*, thanks for reading, btw, I really really appreciate it!!!)

Returned to the confines of the _Razor Crest_ , the Mandalorian wasted no time in cuffing me again. This time, he left zero wiggle room for escape.

“What? Didn’t I just prove myself enough to you back at Mihcas’s compound?” I said indignantly. He ignored my questions, choosing instead to limp to the storage alcove. I trail behind, miffed and still woozy from the fight.

“I just killed my boss with my new favorite knife!” I exclaimed, waving my bound fists in the direction of the compound. “Which, by the way, I left back there!” I heaved a painful breath, tightness and fatigue spreading through my limbs at an alarming rate. “If that wasn’t enough to get you to trust me, you might as well just toss me out now.”

He abruptly halted, and I bounced off him, tumbling to the floor with a _whumf_. I lay on my back the cold metal platform, gasping in pain and surprise, too dizzy yet to sit up. The cool metal was surprisingly comfortable, though, after a while, and I had a sudden urge to doze where I lay. The bounty hunter’s shadow fell over me, and I did my best to open my eyes and glower at him.

The Mandalorian inclined his visor. “You tried to steal my ship.”

“I tried to _hide_ from the _gunfire_ going on outside your ship. Plus that was back on that moon you caught me on!” I grunted wearily. “What’s it been, a week?”

“Three days,” he growled.

“Still! I think I’ve more than proved myself trustworthy. I fixed the cycler wiring, I distracted Mihcas for you. Heck, I even _killed him with my new favorite fragging knife_.” I paused, pushing myself up onto my elbows. The Mandalorian waited. I sighed, exasperated, and lowered my voice to state the improbable but obvious bluurg in the room. “You shot my droid friend. And I could’ve left you back there, you know. Maybe even killed you and escaped to live in relative peace for the rest of my days.” I licked my dry lips, immediately balking at the idea of taking another life.

His fingers dropped to the blaster grip “Is that a threat?”

“I’m just stating a fact, guy.” I swallowed. “You look to be in pretty bad shape.” I clumsily rose from the floor, agonizingly aware of the sprain in my side and the numbness that’d been spreading up my left leg from my toes to my hip. It took a little longer to finish the short journey to the alcove, and all I wanted to do was lay down again. I was tired and sore and sleep had never sounded so good, but I seriously doubted the bounty hunter would approve of me passing out in the middle of the cargo hold.

The Mandalorian growled a warning at me as I stepped into the storage room, rudely pulling me from my daydreams of napping in the darkness amongst the _Crest’s_ wiring and gears. I shrugged back at him, raising my cuffed hands in surrender, and stepped back out of the alcove. The hunter rummaged in a few crates before limping back out into the cargo hold. In his good hand he held a medkit. Stopping in front of me, he jerked his head towards the bunk I’d been occupying on our little voyage.

“What?” I asked, dazed, confused and more than a little annoyed.

“Sit.”

Obediently stepping aside, I crumpled gratefully to the hard mattress, closing my eyes and resting my head against the cool steel curve of the bunk wall. “That went about as well as expected,” I murmured, sinking a little deeper into my exhaustion.The skin prickled at the back of my neck, and I opened one eye. The bounty hunter blocked the light from the hold.

“What do you want,” I whined. The bed, even though it was incredibly hard and scratchy, was the most comfortable thing I’d sat on all day, and my muscles were beginning to relax on their own accord. All I wanted to do was lay down and sleep, boots and dust and knee be doshed.

My name tickled at the back of my brain. I opened my eyes again, because they had closed in the seconds between sitting down and talking to the Mando.

“You need to stay with me,” the hunter said, squeezing my shoulder.

“Sorry, but you’re not my type,” I mumbled in reply. Mother of Moons, I just wanted to sleep!

With a frustrated huff somewhere above me, a pair of hands clamped onto my shoulders and pushed me roughly back onto the bunk. Instinctually, I curled my knees to my chest as I turned onto my side, willing the darkness to take me, but something angry and hot kept my left leg from bending properly. A stream of Mando’a hissed above me.

“Fragging Twi’lek kung,” I muttered into the scratchy pillow. A ripping sound pulled me briefly from my descent into blissful sleep, and chilly fingers poked and prodded at the throbbing, heated lump that had once been my knee. The hands lifted, only to be replaced by more tearing fabric.

“Let me sleep,” I groaned, weakly waving my hands in the direction of the hunter. The Mandalorian muttered under his breath, almost impossible for me to make out. A few words I understood, _atin_ and _cuyan_ and _haar’chak_ , barely made sense to my foggy brain. My eyes drifted close, my body relaxing into the stiff cot’s embrace.

A burning, stabbing ache sharpened in my ribs, assaulting my nerves with fiery agony, bringing me back from unconsciousness. From somewhere closeby, a wild being screamed in torment. Wide-eyed, I tried to sit up, struggling with uncooperative limbs and the pain. I had to get out of there, I had to escape before whatever was making that noise found me. Fighting against the multitude of hands that reached for me, I swung my fists and snapped my teeth, desperately trying to break free. The hands were strong and numerous, however, and I was quickly overcome and pinned back onto the rough mattress. My shoulder stung as if it had been bitten, and a heavy warmth spread through my tired limbs and aching body. With one last growl at my captor, my eyelids drooped and I spun fretfully into the quiet darkness of unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _atin_ \- stubborn, tenacious, capable of endurance  
>  _cuyan_ \- survivor  
>  _haar’chak_ \- damn it!


End file.
